When your Castles turn to sand
by cake
Summary: Abby thinks about all the defining moments in her life. Not so much a ship' fic but I guess it does have something for both lubies and carbies.


Disclaimer: I own em' all! No, just kidding. I don't even own a car so.......  
  
Spoilers: nope, unless you haven't seen season seven. However it is told from season 9 Abby so it may have reference to a certain ship' going on right now.  
  
Summery: Abby thinks about all the defining moments in her life. Not so much a ship' fic but I guess it does have something for both lubies and carbies. (be warned, it may lean towards the ship which I'm currently on board)  
  
Rating: PG-13, just to be safe. I think there is one swear word, other than that it's clean  
  
Author's notes: This fic is kinda disjointed and doesn't follow an orthodox chronology. It's not meant to. Also, my spell checker just lies to me all the time so if I've spelt 'the' wrong or something it's purely my spell checker's fault. *honest*  
  
I've probably made up a lot of aspects of Abby's life, but I had to in order to write this fic so don't flame me about it please :)  
  
Please R&R, even if its just to beg me never to unleash my fics on the world again. I'm tough, I can take it. Constructive criticism would also be greatly appreciated :)  
  
When your Castles turn to sand.  
  
My father was everything to me. I adored him, he was everything my mother wasn't, a play mate, a confidante, a friend and best of all he was my Daddy.  
  
When I was a little girl, he would sit me on his lap and tell me stories, laugh with me and shower me with all his love, he'd say that *I* was his little princess. I was so young then, so naive, I believed him when he told me that mom was going to be okay, that this was "just another funk" and I believed him when he promised me he'd be there for me always. Where are you now Dad?  
  
My parents were terribly mismatched from the start. Maggie was impulsive, flighty and spontaneous - products of her disorder and my father, Greg Wyzenski, was focussed and traditional, he could never quite understand or even tolerate my Mother's behaviour. He hated the illness and to an extent he hated my mother.  
  
At night I would listen to them screaming and shouting, I would close my eyes tight and pray for them to stop. Why couldn't they just love each other? All I wanted was to have a normal childhood, to have a mother who made homemade lemonade and chocolate-chip cookies, not a mother who ran down my street stark naked raving like a lunatic or a mother who turned up at my school PTA meetings (when she remembered) in some mini dress two sizes too small and flirted audaciously with my Math teacher. I *just* wanted her to take her medication.  
  
As the arguing continued my father grew distant and detached. He stopped telling me how much he loved me or how I was his little princess. He stayed out late and drank away his troubles, he would just up and leave for days, living in cheap and grotty motels with god knows what girl he'd picked up in some bar. My mother would stay in bed for weeks, depressed and lonely, leaving me to take care of my baby brother. My father always came back though....until that last time. I remember it so clearly, just like it was yesterday, they had been arguing *again*, my mother was refusing to get out of bed, she wouldn't cook or clean or take care of Eric and me and I remember my dad shouting at her, telling her that she was useless and that he couldn't take it anymore. And at seven years old my father left me, his little princess. The disease had succeeded in tearing apart my family. My world came crashing down and my childhood was lost forever. Who would sit me on their lap and tell me they loved me? Who would take care of me? Whom would *I* turn to when my castles turned to sand?  
  
When I think back to those times, I realise now that my mom was not completely to blame, she was ill, half of the time she didn't know what she was doing or how much she was hurting Eric and me. In reality, my father was a lousy drunk who couldn't handle the responsibility. I was seven years old and he left us and didn't look back. It was the first time my heart broke.  
  
My mother blamed me for him leaving. She told me that it was all my fault and that I was the cause of all their unhappiness. Of course, I knew this was all part of the disease, her depression, and that later she would regret it and tell me how sorry she was, but I still believed her when she said those awful things. For years I thought back to how I could have done things differently, how I could have loved him more or how I could have done more to make him proud of me. Anything.... just so that he would have stayed. But there was nothing I could have done, it was the disease that drove them apart. Not me. But how do you explain that to a seven-year-old girl?  
  
In return, I blamed my mother. I blamed her for pushing my Daddy away, I blamed the disease for destroying our family and I blamed my Daddy for not loving me enough.  
  
After that day, I put all my love into my baby brother Eric. He was a scrawny little kid with big watery blue eyes. And all I wanted was to protect him from the world. I remember him looking up at me with his big round eyes and asking why mommy wouldn't get up. I told him that mom was "just in a funk again". I lied to him just like my daddy lied to me. *He* became my playmate, my confidante and my best friend. I knew that no matter what happened I would not let him lose his childhood. At seven years old, I felt like I had the weight of the world upon my shoulders.  
  
My childhood wasn't always full of misery and pain. I knew, deep inside, that my mother loved me, even though she didn't sit me on her lap and call me 'her little princess' I knew that when you got past the disease she was a wonderful mom who loved us. Whom I loved. Years later, I would find out just how sick she was and that the only reason she didn't end her life, her pit of depression, when my father left was because she had two children whom she loved more than anything in the world. We *were* her world.  
  
I remember when my mother, 'in one of her episodes' as me and Eric began calling it, painted a landscape in the living room. It was beautiful, full of warmth and bright colors, yellows and purples and every kind of red dancing around the wall. I used to stare at it, transfixed by the beauty and wishing that I could be as talented as my mom. She had a gift. This wall was a symbol of my lost childhood of fairytales and happily ever afters.  
  
The purples and reds quickly faded.  
  
I remember how she chased me around the house with a knife and how I locked my self in the hall closet, my tiny feet pressed up against the door, praying for this to end. I remember thinking that God was punishing me, If only I had been a good girl, if only I wasn't so noisy.  
  
I used to dream of the future, I would become a doctor and fall in love and have children that I would love and adore. I would never hurt them or leave them. I wanted the white picket fence, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. I wanted it all.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I met Richard when I was in college. He was tall, older - a graduate student and full of charm. A friend introduced us, she said we "were perfect for each other" and by the end of the evening I was madly in love with Richard W. Lockhart. He took me places I'd only ever dreamt about. He taught me how to feel again. He promised me a fairy tale and a happily ever after. I believed him. Two years later we were married. It was a simple wedding in a small chapel. I thought that this was it, everything I had ever dreamt about, everything I had ever wanted.  
  
At 24 I was still so young and naive.  
  
We decided that Richard would go to medical school and that I would go to nursing school. We could barely afford to live comfortably, never mind pay tuition fees for the both of us. So I went to nursing school and put Richard through med school and when he graduated he would put me through med school. I thought that I would become the doctor I'd always dreamt about, I thought that I would change lives and, in the process, save myself. Things don't always turn out the way you want. Just another harsh reality of life that I would later learn.  
  
Our marriage soon turned to another example of my own misery and pain. He began staying out late and screwing everything in a skirt. I began my downward spiral into the world of an alcoholic. I was just like my father, but then so was he. I remember how Richard would tell me how I was useless and just like my mother, depressed and miserable. Perhaps he was right.  
  
Just when I didn't think it could get any worse, I found out I was pregnant. And the truth was I wanted this baby more than anything else, I wanted someone to love, who would love me back. I wanted to be the mother than I never had, someone who made homemade lemonade and chocolate-chip cookies and was a member of the school parent-teacher board. But how could I bring an innocent child into a world full of heartbreak and war? Richard and I were barely even talking, he slept around and I drank myself into a blissful oblivion. We wouldn't be good parents, and we'd fight all the time. I remember how I felt when my parents argued. I hated it. I thought it had been all my fault. How could I do that to my own child, my own flesh and blood?. And of course there was the disease. How could I be sure that I didn't have it or that my child wouldn't have it? I couldn't go through all that again. I couldn't inflict that sort of life onto my child. So instead I killed her. I took away from her any chance of a life.  
  
I remember sitting in the hospital, alone, staring at the white walls thinking about the mural on the wall of my childhood, the brilliant colors of my childhood long gone. I felt devoid of all emotion. I felt numb. But inside my heart was breaking. And then she was gone almost as quickly as she had been created. Once again my world was torn apart, shattered to nothing. I had killed my baby. I never even told Richard  
  
That was the beginning of the end.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Richard and I finally divorced, although our marriage was over long before. That's when I met Luka Kovac, a Croatian doctor who's own life was full of torment and pain. I remember thinking how I wanted to take his heartache away. I wanted to make him happy. But It wasn't that easy. Our first date ended in blood and tears. He had killed a man by trying to protect me. And subsequently he had withdrawn into himself, he became a lost soul. I wanted to save him. The night after, I had gone to his hotel room, and we'd had sex for the first time. We'd both lost our selves in each other's pain and misery. That was the beginning of a long and painful path towards the unknown for both of us.  
  
I felt Luka slipping even further away from me into his own world of depression. I wanted so much to reach out and touch him, to show him that Truth. Beauty. Freedom. Love did still exist and hadn't died along with his beloved family, but I couldn't see past my own heartache. However, we stayed together throughout our torment of dejection. What can I say? , Misery loves company.  
  
I remember believing that Luka didn't care about me, never could care about me, that I was just another warm body. I would later learn just how wrong I was. For me, our relationship hit the lowest when my mother came to Chicago. All I wanted was to talk to someone, but he wasn't there or didn't want to be there. And that hurt. So I turned to Carter, and began a long journey of friendship and respect.  
  
When my mother waltzed back into my life, I knew how it would end, just like I knew that this wouldn't be the last, there would always be more dances. It was always the same. At first I pretended that I didn't know her, that she wasn't my mother because it's easy to pretend and ignore it, I've done it all my life. I pretended to Erik that everything was ok, I pretended that I didn't care when Luka rejected me that day and I pretend to myself even now that I'm happy. I don't think I can ever truly be happy.  
  
My mother's visit, as always, left me with nothing but anguish and sorrow. Why couldn't she just take her medication? Why couldn't she be like other moms? Why...  
  
I remember the day she left, I knew it would happen all along but nothing could stop the dark wave that would spread over me. Nothing. For months I wouldn't know where she was or even whether she was alive, a feeling that I would never get used to. Never *wanted* to get used to. That night I had crawled out from under Luka's arm and gone to the bathroom. To cry. I could never cry in front of him. I couldn't reduce myself to that. So I did it alone. Always alone.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I remember the defining moment in my relationship with Luka. He had been treating a Bishop who, in return had helped Luka find faith again, to find hope. And subsequently he became more affectionate and loving. But I was still stuck in the past, I couldn't return his affection. That had always been my disposition. I *did* love him though, no matter what people thought or what Luka thought. I loved Luka and probably always will. He's a part of me, just like Richard is and just like my father is.  
  
I remember how people would talk behind our backs, they thought it was all about sex. That there wasn't anything else in our relationship. It hurt. They were wrong. I had to believe that. They didn't see us when we were alone, when Luka would tell me how beautiful I was or when we'd laugh together. They didn't see any of that. I knew what they were all wondering, I knew they all thought that Carter and I should be together and at times so did I. But Carter was my best friend and Luka was my boyfriend. There was nothing connecting the two and yet there was nothing separating the two.. I never actually realised how much my friendship with Carter affected Luka. He never said anything. If he had said something I probably wouldn't have done anything about it, my friendship with Carter was very important to me. It was my rock.  
  
The day Richard came back into my life was, not surprisingly, to bring me bad news. He informed me that my mother was held up in some motel room in Oklahoma, alone and depressed. I knew it was coming. I had known it all along. I knew what I had to do, even if it wasn't the right choice it was what *I* had to do. Luka tried to help me, but I pushed him away. As usual. His way probably would have been the best, the safest but I believed that I was the only one who could handle this, for I had done this many times before. Carter offered to come with me to get my mother, he knew that was what I wanted, maybe it wasn't the best way of dealing with my mother but he knew that was what I needed. It was one of the reasons we were best friends. He dropped everything for me that day. Something I'll never forget. I knew Luka wasn't happy with these arrangements, my going with Carter, but he didn't object. I also knew that he would have come with me in an instant if I'd asked him, he would have come with me to the ends of the earth if I'd wanted him too. But I was too stubborn, too proud to ask, I wanted him to offer like Carter did.  
  
My mother was a wreck when we found her, she hadn't washed in days, her hair was matted and greasy. It's a sight I won't ever forget. I thought she was dead. She was just lying there, lifeless.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I didn't think it could get any worse.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
My mother tried to kill herself. Again. She had taken an overdose somewhere between Tulsa and Chicago. Just.Like.That. She hadn't given a thought about me or Eric, her two children whom she loved more than anything. She didn't care how much this would have affected us. The story of my life.  
  
I remember wheeling her in to the ER. I remember Luka shouting orders. I remember all the questions. All the 'what's happened Abby' 'what has she taken Abby' 'how much has she taken Abby' Abby... Abby... Abby...It was like slow motion. Nothing would have prepared me for that day. After all those years of depression and broken promises, I was going to watch my own mother die. No one should ever have to watch someone they love die. I'd always thought that I would feel relief when it happened, but watching my mother seizing on that gurney, so close to death, all I felt was pain and fear.  
  
I've been dancing with fear all my life.  
  
She pulled through. She made a full recovery. But, would I ever recover? I knew I never would.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
My friendship with Carter deteriorated. He told me he had feelings for me. He didn't want to be my friend anymore. We stood by the lake and he gave me an ultimatum. I think I always knew, deep down, that he had feelings for me, but I just wasn't ready to face them. And I did love Carter, I just wasn't sure if I was *in love* with him. It took me a while to figure out the truth. Carter was my soul mate. Not because he was the first person whom I loved (he wasn't) but simply because he's my best friend. I'm not sure whether we'll still be together in 10 years or even one years time but I know we'll always be best friends. It's that simple.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
When I think back over my life, all the mistakes I've made, I'm not sure I would change them. They've made me the person I am today. I've accepted myself, I've accepted all my flaws and I've accepted all my problems. It's who I am.  
  
Growing up I loved my mother more than anything, I just never realised it until that day she was lying there on the gurney. Dying.  
  
After that day, My mother and I grew closer. I told her about my abortion. Something I'd never told anyone, not Richard, not Luka and not Carter. But I told her. And I cried. And she helped me find forgiveness with myself. In order to forgive others you have to forgive yourself. She taught me that. Your mom really is the only one to turn to when your castles turn to sand.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
author's notes: The title 'When your castles turn to sand' is taken from the song 'comfort eagle' by CAKE.  
  
'Truth.Beauty.Freedom.Love' is owned by the wonderful Baz Luhrmann & Craig Pearce.  
  
'the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us' is taken from the novel The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald 


End file.
